A Daemon-Horn Blade Ch. 09

They ran the remaining yards to the shoreline and caught the sight of the final waiting canoe a few hundred yards away upstream. Rowan could now hear the sounds of other Boar-Men in the woods nearby and he waved off the boat, warning them to move onwards and to flee without them as he gestured toward the southern shoreline. Grabbing the girl's soft hand, they ran along the shore to the south, hoping to find a safe unsearched section of shore where they could swim to the southern riverbank, and then make their way back east to safety. Boyle would understand and knew that Rowan could handle these river waters and make it across the river to safety. Perhaps in a day or two they could be rescued, further upriver, but first they had to find a safe section of riverbank where they could make their getaway without being seen. That turned out to be a major problem as Boars-Men by the handful now spied the escaping couple and began to run after them in pursuit.

Rowan had been told by the Lore-Master that Boar-Men were somewhat slower afoot than humans, but on the other hand they would be also much less quick to tire. The girl wasn't slow on her foot either and she matched him stride for stride, but soon she would tire and they would soon afterwards face a terrible and eventually mortal battle.

Surprisingly, he soon heard the cries of Tory approaching him. He, like Rowan, was evading his foes by speedy flight and had so far avoided any direct combat, but Rowan could tell that the first mate was now quite tired. Now they had pursuers closing in on them from both ends of the shoreline.

"Swim across the river, along with the girl!" Rowan begged the tired but brave sailor. "I can keep a good many of them at bay until you are both safe across the shore and in the shelter of the woods, delaying the time they could pursue you. If I can slay enough of them, perhaps none of the survivors will recall seeing your escape."

"Always the young fool, my brave lad! No, I am quite done in and I shall avenge my dear sweet wife Beryl here and now, along the river she loved. They shall not drag me alive to their feasting! I shall make them trade a great many of their lives for my own, for my sword hand is certainly faster and more skilled than yours, although I wish that I had your better blade. No! You two go now, and I shall cover your escape while I can!"

Still Rowan stood there by the mate's side and the wiry sailor shrugged and then he briefly considered the naked rescued girl, who was still holding the bloody long stabbing dagger with rather considerable confidence.

"Girl! Get yourself into the water and start swimming! With just that small blade and no covering for your flesh, you will not last long! Rowan, get to my back that we might then protect each other for they are neigh upon us!" He barked.

The rescued captive girl still did not make her escape, but instead she pushed her back together against the men's, so that she was between their shoulders forming a triangle of steel just as the fury of the first group of pursuing Boar-Men now caught up with them. She might have been naked and unarmored but she handled the relatively short blade in her hand with determination and quite a hint of long practiced skill.

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There were two large groups each of about seven or eight Boar-men that converged on them from both sides of the shore, but they did not time or coordinate their attacks on the greatly outnumbered humans. This proved to be fortuitous, as Rowan was hard-pressed to defend both himself and the nearly defenseless girl at his side.

"Stop worrying about me!" She muttered between clinched teeth, as her long thin stabbing dagger reached in to stab an over-confident warrior, right into its broad hairy chest. "I've danced this dance before... and without a burning sword in my hand either, so go put it to some good use! I can handle my own against these pig-fuckers!" Relieved that the rescued lady was not entirely defenseless, he did divert most of his attention now to the attack, and with quite heroic results.

Tory, true to his earlier claims, was indeed well-proficient with his long slender sword, and he ducked, twisted, and lunged faster than Rowan's eyes could keep track of. Now that it was far too late, the lad wished that he had asked the mate for some swordsmanship instruction during some of the quieter, less busy times during the week that they had been together on The Lady Ellyn. An opportunity sadly lost that he vowed to not to repeat! He wielded a magical and potent weapon, it was true, but he had little of the skill to best utilize it.

As the first wave lay dead or mortally wounded at their feet, several slightly larger groups of warriors began to converge upon them and for the next few minutes the trio was in rather acute danger. Only the fact that these creatures did not fight well as a group and did not coordinate their attacks saved them. The Boar-Men were larger and stronger creatures, but each of the trio was quicker and, except for Rowan, fought with far greater skill, not to mention far greater desperation. When the last pair of these terrors fell, spilling their life's-blood upon the wet muddy ground, Rowan knew that they couldn't hold out much longer.

Tory's bloody hands were clutching his side which betrayed a rather deep spear wound that had penetrated to his vitals. Through his tightly clinched fingers, Rowan could see the mate's blood flowing quite freely and severely. The young lady had also taken several light cuts to her arms and ribs that also dribbled blood, albeit much more slowly. Rowan was fortunately mostly unharmed yet; his heavy protective leather shirt and vest had turned several similar strokes, leaving him with little other than bruises and scratches. Still, he knew that they had been rather lucky so far.

Loud sounds of more hunting Boar-Men crashing in the woods to the north of them, and cries from large search parties on both of the other sides of the riverbank warned than even larger and perhaps more organized opposition was on its way, but for the moment they were alone.

"Please Tory! We must now swim to safety at once! There are too many now coming for us to handle, we must escape while we can!" Rowan pleaded.

"I think it is already too late for me, as already my strength weakens by the moment and my wound is too great for but a simple bandaging. My beloved Beryl beckons to me to join her in the Shadowlands and our reunion will not be long delayed. Go... swim away to safety, for you cannot save me, but I can indeed buy your safe passage for yet a brief while more. Go! I beg of you.... and I wish you well!"

Rowan swallowed hard, but he nodded his head. Already the sailor had lost nearly too much blood and his face was already quite white with pain and loss of life's-blood. Yet his face showed determination and the will to carry on for yet awhile further. He would sell his life hard and a good many more Boar-Men would yet fall before his vitality was spent.

With a final quick grasp of the mate's hand in farewell, Rowan grabbed the girl's hand and together they splashed into the river. If he had been alone, without the young lady to protect, he would never have abandoned the sailor, even at his very own request, but his life was not his alone to sacrifice. The river here near the island remained too shallow to swim, and they had to wade out for nearly a minute until it deepened enough so that they could begin to swim to the southern shore. As they began to swim, a great host of Boar-Men arrived and nearly at once Tory had become extremely sorely pressed. Even sorely weakened from his wound, he could still weave the dance of the sword finer than anyone Rowan had ever seen, but already his movements were slower and less assertive. Still Boar-Men continued to fall, but not without exacting further telling wounds of their own.

As Rowan and his rescued damsel reached the mid-point in the river, he risked a final look backwards towards the island and watched the brave mate at last fall under a flurry of sword and spear blows from the dozen or more warriors that now surrounded him. True to his word, the sailor had fought quite to the death, and he would not be an unwilling sacrifice or living victual, to be tied or thrust upon a cooking spit. He had fought beyond any measure of bravery and had earned any reward that might follow him in the Shadowlands, reunited once again with his lover Beryl.

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Still, the couple had not quite made as complete of an escape as they had hoped, as Rowan noticed that several Boar-Men were now looking in their direction and angrily waving their weapons. They had been seen and would be undoubtedly pursued shortly.

"Swim for your life! Tory has fallen and now our flight has been discovered! They'll run to their boats now and chase us, without respite or mercy!" Rowan sputtered, as he gasped for breath.

The young woman only grunted something with her face half in the water, but he thought she was indeed already swimming for her life, and she kept up with him stroke for stroke. Several minutes later they had reached the muddy shore of the southern shoreline swamp and they dragged themselves as quickly as they could into the dark cover of the treeline to rest, for but a moment, before their flight for life continued. Already, Rowan thought he could see a boat coming around the western corner of the island heading towards them.

"We won't have much time." Rowan panted with fatigue. "We must lead the search parties away from my friends and the surviving townsmen to the east. We must try to guide them instead as far as possible away to the west, so that they do not suspect that our attack came from the east instead for the survivors there are few and cannot hope to survive against another full raid. We must speed away while we have the strength and then use guile and cunning to protect us after we tire, for our foes will never rest while on their chase! Still, before we flee once again for our lives, and I still have the breath to speak, I would know your name, fair lady. I am Rowan, formerly of Swansford village to the west, and appointed champion of the Lady Ayleth, daughter to the Duke."

"Thank you for my rescue, Rowan! I am Gwenda, daughter to Cerem, a knight of Strook Valley, near the town of Strookcliff to the north-east of here. He was a large-holder in that mountain valley, and he, my brother and their few soldiers were overcome by a great war-band a few weeks ago. I escaped and made my way south and found that the great stone walls of Strookcliff had been breeched, and the city in flames. As was the walled fort of Osbridge further south where the river met the Emerald. The only available boat left then took us few survivors down-river to Silana... just in time for when that town was sacked as well. Rather than run, I stood with the townsmen there and fought until I was overpowered and taken. The rest, you know. I fear most of the Duchy holdings in the north are now lost, or soon will be. But enough! I owe you the rescue-debt, and it is a great one, but I can see another two war-canoes with grim angry warriors heading swiftly for us, and this soft ground will leave tracks that even the dimmest of them can follow. I have wind enough now to run for a time, let us use it, and create some distance between us and them, for you speak truly, that they will never rest in our pursuit until the trail is lost or too cold to follow!"

As Gwenda was just a tad underdressed for a run through the thick green undergrowth of the river swamp, they delayed their escape just long enough more for Rowan to offer her his thin leather shirt, which did end up covering most of her important regions. She was a tall girl; nearly six feet tall even in her bare feet, only a few inches shorter than Rowan. She would have been the tallest girl in Swanford, and on nearly any other woman his shirt would have draped to their knees, but on Gwenda the shirttail rode down to only a few inches below her ass to just cover the tops of her thighs. Her lovely long legs were going to be scratched up in their escape, Rowan thought to himself as they began to run, but it couldn't at all be helped.

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Off they ran, generally following the river downstream to the west, and taking no pains or time, to cover or obscure their path. While they did want to lead the approaching war-parties away from rescue party, only speed could help them right now until they had put their foes onto the wrong search path for as many miles as was possible.

It was going to be a long, tiring, dangerously desperate day, fraught with peril!